Recording Room
by DancesWithNobody
Summary: In the mid-1920s, a young woman moves to America to pursue her dream of becoming a star. Luckily for her, Alistair Williams is there to help her make the news. Inspired by Sylvan Esso's "Radio". Includes smut midway through. Alastor is known as Alistair Williams in this fic.


She was beginning to become acquainted with her new living situation. She'd only just moved in, it was barely a month ago at this point. She missed her family back home, understandably. Making the transition to not only a new residence, but to a new country entirely, had been taxing on both her physical and emotional strength.

But Helen had heard great things about the States, it would be an escape from the post-war troubles of Britain, and her mother had been _so_encouraging of her move.

"_Your voice is incredible, dear, you need to go somewhere it will be appreciated," _her mother smiled.

"_Maybe you just want me to leave,_" she had joked.

She did miss her now, had missed her from the start. She was getting more comfortable, however, and the new neighbors she had were being _so_welcoming.

Maybe it was just the culture here.

So far, _everyone_ had been welcoming, which definitely helped her to become more comfortable. However, even though everyone she had met since entering this country had been exceedingly nice, it seemed the pleasantries stopped there. She had yet to get to know anyone, make an acquaintance, let alone a friend. Her emotional fortitude was beginning to crumble.

_Dwindling finances certainly don't help, _she thought bitterly. It wasn't as if she could phone her mother or old friends, the expense of it all would be phenomenal. At this point, even the idea of an evening meal was becoming less certain.

All the many job opportunities she had applied for, a number that by now she had lost count of, tainted her thoughts.

_Maybe this was the wrong decision. Maybe I'm not good enough to make it._

She was upset, and due to the evening hour, also considerably famished. Sauntering her way into the kitchen, she flipped on the radio, turning the station to a popular local broadcast. At least, when she had asked for kinds of local entertainment, he had been mentioned several times, so she _assumed_ he was popular. It was understandable too, with his energetic tone and way with words. Alistair Williams was his name, she had been told. _It has a nice ring to it, perfect for the radio,_ she had thought.

She had quickly became enthralled with his broadcast, and very soon chose to turn it on as often as she could. He would broadcast many things, share bits of news, some local and some not ("_Best keep safe, dear listeners, there is a purported serial killer on the loose."_) He would, of course, also share his musical choices, radio plays, or sometimes just talk on air. In a way, he was her only friend here, as pitiful as that was. Though fully aware that she had something of an unhealthy enjoyment for his broadcasts, she just couldn't stop herself from tuning in. This played to her advantage, however, as after the end of the song, he had an announcement:

"Dearest listeners, as most of you know, I am always in search of new _entertainment, _and as of late I have been in search of local talent to present on my program. If you sing, present radio plays, or any other kind of vocal talent, you are _very welcome to apply and audition! _Yes, you heard that right, vocalists of all areas are encouraged to consider this oppor-"

She had tuned out, far too excited by these words to listen to the remainder of Alistair's persuasions. She frantically went to her desk drawer for a pen and paper for when he listed his contact information, focusing her attention back to the radio as Alistair gave the information she was seeking. Writing frantically, yet legibly (she wanted to be able to read the blasted thing, dammit!) she copied his phone number down, barely able to contain her happiness.

This could be her big break! This could be one of those countless amazing opportunities she had heard about America. She couldn't contain contain herself. With any luck, he would like her voice too. _Please_, she thought, _please let this be it_.

She, beaming all the while, proceeded to fix herself dinner. Later, she found sleep hard to come by, her excitement (and nerves, she noted) limiting her ability to relax. Eventually sleep did come her way, however, and in her dreams she was on the stage.

….

Waking was easy that morning. She was more than willing to get up and make herself presentable, far too excited for the events later that day. Sometime before lunch, she made the call. She would've _gladly _made it sooner, but wanted to call at an appropriate time of day. This also ensured she had more time to decide exactly what she was going to say, as well.

That in mind, calling was still nerving-wrecking. She was shaking horribly as she waited for the lines to connect. He hadn't even answered yet, and she was already like this!

"Hello! This is Alistair Williams," Oh God she was going to faint. If she thought her nerves were alight before, they were racing now.

"Hello, Mr. Williams,"

"Alistair is fine, dear!"

"Oh- hello Alistair. My name is Helen Anderson. I heard your advertisement yesterday evening - for any vocalists to contact you - and I couldn't help myself but to call!"

"My dear, I am _so_glad you did! I have been sorely lacking in entertainment for _months_, and felt an absolute need to advertise! I could not be more elated that you have decided to answer my calling," he certainly seemed happy that she had called, which helped to calm some of her nerves. Now she only had to worry if he would like _her._

"Oh that's wonderful! You see, I sing, and I've been told I'm quite good at it, and I was hoping I might be able to audition," she nearly rambled.

"That would be lovely, my dear. Any time between three and five this evening would be wonderful, if that works for you," his excitement was made clear to her, which only helped to encourage her own.

"Yes, that would be perfect!"

"Good! My studio is located near the edge of town. I'm on the second floor. Do you know where the old barbershop used to be located?"

"I think so, yes! I should be able to get there easily," she knew he could hear her positively _beaming_ smile, could hear her unfettered excitement. This would have bothered her somewhat, and she knew potential employers probably _shouldn't_ know that their employee was desperate, but he seemed so positively elated himself that she lacked the concern she otherwise might have harbored.

"Lovely dear! I'll meet you in the lobby and I'll eagerly await your arrival," he beamed back at her.

"Thank you for the opportunity! I'll be sure to meet you this evening. Have a lovely day!"

"Goodbye, dear! And good luck," and like that, the conversation was over.

It was then that it clicked. She had an _audition_, an _opportunity_. My, how was she going to survive this? Her nerves were more alight now than ever before. What else could she possibly do before going, as well? What could she do besides fret and go over her songs until they had become monotonous.

….

At approximately three-thirteen that afternoon (she had checked the clock to make sure she wouldn't be _too_ early, but certainly not _running late_either), she left her home in the center of town and headed on foot to the studio. To the audition. To _her _audition.

Part of her wished she could have bought herself a car, but she knew that it would only strain her finances, and where exactly was she going to travel that required such a contraption? She would certainly stay mostly in town, where she could walk perfectly fine. Although it would be nice to not have to bear the elements (though it was a gentle autumn at the moment), and nicer still to not ruin her expertly styled hair, she thought them a frivolous thing. To ensure she was presentable enough when she arrived at her destination, she simply had to leave early enough that she could walk a leisurely pace. So that's what she did when traveling to meet _Alistair_.

Just the name alone really _did something_ _to her_, didn't it? She was undeniably looking forward to this meeting, partly for the prospect of getting paid, and partly because she'd finally be able to put a face behind the voice.

She made her way to the building. It wasn't difficult to find, as it was easily the tallest building in the area. Why he didn't mention that defining trait was beyond her, but she supposed it didn't matter now.

She turned the corner of the building and made her way to the doors of the studio, checking the time on her watch. It was ten until four, she had made better time than she thought. The sun was setting lower in the sky, and part of her was worried what people would think, her coming out of a single man's studio at dark, at least, she assumed (maybe hoped?) he was unattached. A bigger part of decided she didn't care all that much what people might think. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she opened the doors to the studio.

The studio wasn't anything luxurious, but it was definitely spacious and had a _clean_ aura to it. There were a couple of chairs in the corner sitting around a small table, presumably for guests. She looked around for a moment, not seeing anyone there. _I wonder if anyone else is auditioning today?_

Suddenly, a man came out of a side room that she hadn't immediately noticed.

"Why, hello! You must be Helen! I am _so_ glad you could make an appearance today! I do apologize for not being out here sooner, I hope you'll forgive me. I was sorting through some items and got a bit carried away it seems," he chuckled merrily, like he had just told a particularly interesting tale. It was oddly endearing, she thought, and paired with his voice made him even more charming.

He was horribly attractive, too, which certainly played a role in the whole '_charming' _aspect of his nature. Alistair was very lanky, with gently tanned skin and dark brown hair messily swept over. A thin pair of glasses were perched upon his sharp, slim nose. He had the longest legs, she thought, and as he gesticulated around the room, she noticed the length of his fingers and how large his hands were. _Attractive, indeed._

Not that she was concerned with that, of course. Of course.

"So dear, you said you sing, correct?" That brought her out of her thoughts.

"I, uhm, yes I do," suddenly she felt the meager amount of confidence she previously had leave her.

"Marvelous, dear! Would you mind giving me a performance after we get to the recording area?" His smile was gentle and reassuring, and she suddenly felt her confidence come back in small amounts.

"I would love to! I have original work, but if you would rather me perform a particular piece I can do that, as well," she smiled. While she liked her own writing, she wasn't quite confident in it enough to perform it, if the truth should be known. Not to mention there were plenty of popular songs a the moment that she would be more than happy to sing for him.

_For him, _she thought, _where did that come from?_

"Either is fine, whichever you are most comfortable with!" He beamed at her. His smile looked just as it sounded, full of life. He motioned for her to go with him up the stairs, and she followed obediently.

The two of them made their up the stairs to the second floor, and Alistair introduced her to his studio.

"This, darling, is where it all happens! Yes, every bit of broadcasting I've ever done has been right here in these walls," he was clearly proud of his work, and obviously enjoyed it very much.

"Since I've moved here, I've absolutely adored listening to your station! I wasn't much of a fan of the radio when I was back home, but I've really grown to like it here," and it was true, she loved listening to the radio now. Although it was mostly just an affinity for Alistair's station.

"You flatter me, darling," he raised a dramatic hand up up to his chest, clearly one for flare. "I am glad you have come to enjoy my profession, though! It is certainly one of passion, for me. I couldn't see myself doing anything else!"

"You're very well suited for it! If I'm to be honest with you, I believe it's you who has increased my enjoyment of the radio so spectacularly," now _this_ was flattery. Maybe that pushed it a bit far, she _was_ here for a job opportunity, after all. She couldn't seem to stop herself, however.

"Ah, darling, it is a _delight _to hear that," there was stress in the way he said 'delight,' and his voice dipped just slightly as he spoke it. Not much, but enough to be enticing.

"Where was it you said you were from, exactly?"

"I'm from Yorkshire, Mr. Williams," she hadn't actually ever told him where she was from, but she supposed he could at least guess Britain from her accent.

"Ah! And darling, _please_, call me Alistair!

'Right!"

"Why don't you give me a demonstration of your singing capabilities, my dear! I've held you up long enough already," he continued.

"Oh, right, yes! If it's okay with you, I believe I'll just do a number that's popular now."

"Quite alright! However you feel most comfortable!"

And so she began to sing. It wasn't a stressful, difficult number, but she was very mindful to keep her vocals steady and smooth. All the while, Alistair watched and listened with a simple smile on his face. _Hopefully that was a good sign._

As she finished her song, he gave her a small congratulatory nod, as if to say _good job_.

"What a performance! Absolutely spectacular! Out of all the folks I've had already, yours was _certainly_ amongst the best. That isn't light praise, either, I've had quite a good many show for this!" Well, that was good, wasn't it? Clearly he thought she was good, and especially so to be ranked amongst the best he had seen.

"Really? I, ah, thank you! I'm sure you've seen a tremendous amount of talent here," she was overjoyed. To think that someone who was so well acquainted with vocal talent thought _she_ was that good was just nothing short of amazing. Her confidence soared once more, and a beaming smile graced her features.

"I meant every word, dear! You truly do have a gift, and it would be a shame to not allow others to witness it, would it not?"

She had often wondered exactly what it would take to get herself out there. Who to contact? How to advertise? She wanted to be _known_, and would do what it took to get that notoriety. She was fully aware of some of the, ahm, _services_ that were necessary to ensure success in the industry. If she were honest, she wouldn't even mind, as long as she got what she wanted, too. Whatever it took to get her in the news.

"Ah, thank you," she blushed, suddenly bashful at the praise from him. It meant a lot to hear someone in the industry say that, and coming from _him_ made it all the more poignant.

She looked at Alistair again, hopefully not too brazenly. She took in his features, his lithe frame, the fitted slacks on his skinny, too long legs as her eyes traveled up, and she caught him smirking at her with a knowing gleam. Suddenly her face was hot and she glanced away. _Why did she do that? He's right there! He could be her employer soon!_

He stood up straight and made long strides towards her, his already tall figure even more imposing as he loomed over her closely.

"Darling, if you wanted something, you should've just _asked_," and he closed the distance between them, mouths finally touching. The kiss is chaste and soft, and he gently pulled away after a short moment to stare at her. That _look_ was still there, positively predatory, and it would've made her uncomfortable if she weren't so blasted turned on right now.

"_Doll, why don't you sweeten this deal we have, hm? I would love to know what that pretty voice of yours sounds like after it's hoarse from sucking me off," _his voice had become lower, entering a gravelly state that was absolute _heaven_ to listen to.

Oh.

Oh _my. _She didn't realize how badly she needed to hear that until he said that.

She stared up at him with doe eyed wonder. She wondered, momentarily, if he was going to kiss her again, but then he made his way to a nearby chair and got comfortable, his thin legs spreading wide. Inviting her in. It was if she was at his beck and call, almost a _slave_, like she couldn't deny him, even if she wanted to, but she couldn't imagine _not_ wanting to. She followed him obediently, placing herself in between his legs, hands going up to his knees so she could _feel_.

He gently took her hand and palmed himself with it, feeling his stiffness through his trousers. She took the hint and deftly unfastened his pants, loosening them and pulling his cock free of it's confines. Her mouth watered at the sight. She was no stranger to sexual interaction, certainly not a blushing _virgin_, but _oh_, how he made it all feel _new and exciting._

She felt his hard length with her bare hand, enjoying the texture of his throbbing member as she began to stroke him. The tip glistened with precome, and like the obedient little thing she was, she licked it off delicately, enjoying the saltiness of it, before lowering her head to suck him in earnest. She could feel him throb as she went down, heard him sigh as she swirled her tongue on him. She does this routine, sucking the tip and swirling her tongue over him, until his hips started twitching on their own. Then she took him fully, sliding her slick mouth all the way down his impressive endowment, feeling the way it brushed the roof of her mouth, stretched it open. He moved his hands to her throat, pressing his fingers into her flesh. Her momentary alarm bells became silent as he didn't press hard enough to _hurt. _She continued to suck him as she pulled her head up, only to bob it back down again, his thumbs pressing down into her throat.

She wondered, briefly, if anything would be done for _her predicament_. His steady "hmms" and breathless moans were really working her up, she could feel the slick wetness of herself against her, now ruined, panties. As she sucked Alistair fervently, she hoped he would choose to take care of her too.

"_Don't you look good sucking American dick?_" He growled, but it wasn't _really_ a growl, he was far too breathless. She felt herself grow wetter at the words.

He moved his fingers from her throat, instead threading his long fingers into her hair as his hands pressed against her. Then he pushed her down further onto himself, gagging her in the process. Alistair either didn't notice or didn't care, because he continued the action over and over, fucking himself into her mouth as she let herself be used. She was helpless to this, he held her so tightly, and she couldn't pull up if she tried. Her mascara was running, tears washing it off, and her lipstick, she imagined, faired no better. She felt like a used-up whore, she was being _used_. She knew at that point that he would most certainly _not_ attend to her, but that almost made it better. At this moment, she was his plaything.

His hips began snapping into her mouth at a maddening pace. She could feel his cock twitch in her mouth, heard the sighs, gentle moans that managed to slip past, and she knew he was close. As if on cue, she felt his balls tighten, his body tensing, and then he came, spilling himself into her mouth, not letting up on his thrusts for a moment. As he came down from his high, she pulled back to lick the remainder of come off his softening dick. After she had cleaned him sufficiently, he tucked himself back into his pants and buttoned himself up.

She began to stand, on shaky legs might she add, panties still absolutely _soaked_ from her excitement.

"I'd recommend you go to the restroom down the hall on the left and clean yourself up. So you look less like the whore you just proved yourself to be, my dear," Alistair told her. She was taken aback. This perfectly nice man she had made an acquaintance of treating her like a common tramp. She felt her heart sink, her stomach drop at his harsh words. _But_, she thought, _I did enjoy it. Maybe I liked feeling like a whore._

She went and cleaned herself up anyway, wiped the smears of mascara off her cheeks, fixed her lipstick so it's no longer smudged over face. She checked her skirt and blouse, making sure there's no sign of their altercation, so they're nice and smooth. And then she returned, and Alistair was perfectly normal.

"Would you like anything to drink, dear? I put some tea on in the spare kitchen if you're interested," and the whiplash it gave her was simply monumental. How could he be so, _so_.. _much_ one minute, and the very next be a completely different person. She was dumbfounded by his attitude, but managed an affirmation of "Yes, tea is good" anyway, somehow. And Alistair popped back out of the room, presumably to go get the tea.

A few minutes later, her suspicions were confirmed, and he brought back two cups of tea. She was still too disoriented to fully process what's going on, but Alistair motioned for her to sit in one of the two chairs in the room, so she does. And then they talk. About nothing, for the most part, small talk and simple things, simple pleasantries. _It's so unbearably awkward for her,_ she thinks, _but Alistair doesn't seem to be fazed,_ so she relaxes somewhat. And they talk in earnest. This is more personal, more _normal_, she thinks.

She enjoyed the conversation, for what it's worth, but the lateness of the hour and her impending hunger encourage her to take her leave, so she told Alistair that she must be on her way, that it was nice to meet him, that she hoped she'd get a spot on his show, and that she hoped she'd be in the news.

"Oh, my dear, you will, but you really should stay," he tells her.

"Oh, I wish I could, but it's getting late and I really must be off."

"I insist, darling."

"Thank you so much, and thank you for the tea, as well, but I have to."

"Darling, _no,_" and then his eyes had that same predatory look as before, the look that made her spine tingle, the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The look that feels _wrong_.

He stood then, walking towards her. She didn't know why, but somehow she _knew_ that this was bad, that it shouldn't be happening. She backed up as far as she could, but she hit the wall, and can't go any further. His tall stature was ever so menacing then, the way he loomed over her no longer enjoyable as his large hands, his far too long fingers, grow closer.

"You should know, darling, that I simply cannot stop myself from _playing with my food," _he told her, as her eyes bulged in fright.


End file.
